Don’t let stars wink out all over the
West

I’m in eastern
Nevada at Great Basin National Park, and it’s pitch black
except for a startling sky above. Stars as bright as diamonds
sparkle across the black cloth of space. The translucent band of
the Milky Way arcs across the heavens, and Perseid meteors streak
through the darkness, leaving fluorescent yellow tracers in their
wake.

“At this time of night, the meteors will
leave long trails just like an airplane,” says Tom Sevcik of
the Salt Lake Astronomical Society, who is interpreting the night
sky for our small band of stargazers.

But spectacular
night skies like this one have become an endangered phenomenon. The
culprit is light pollution -- the illumination and blanking out of
the night sky by artificial light. Many people may be surprised to
learn that two-thirds of Americans can’t see the Milky Way
from their backyards, and 99 percent of American citizens now live
in places afflicted with significant outdoor light pollution.

If we continue to increase outdoor lighting at the
current rate, no dark skies will remain in the continental United
States by 2025. Light pollution has already limited the number of
visible stars in many cities to 150, but in an area with a pristine
night sky, you should be able to see a crowd of 14,000 stars.

Cities and suburbs aren’t the only places with
diminished views of the night sky. Although our national parks have
some of the best stargazing in the United States, many are
threatened by light pollution. The National Park Service’s
Night Sky Team, responsible for monitoring light pollution in the
national parks, found light pollution from cities affecting parks
as far as 200 miles away. The neon glow from Las Vegas, for
example, is visible at eight national parks, including Great Basin
National Park and Death Valley National Park.

Light
pollution is more than just a problem for stargazers and
astronomers. It’s also a waste of ever-more expensive energy
and poses a threat to nocturnal species. Thousands of migrating
birds perish after colliding with brightly lit skyscrapers. Sea
turtles swim inland, disoriented by the bright lights of malls and
cities. Artificial light inhibits feeding bats, and evidence
suggests that it discourages zooplankton from feeding on algae.

The good news is that light pollution, unlike many other
forms of pollution, is completey reversible. If we begin to take
action by replacing and reorienting outdoor lights in our cities,
suburbs, rural areas and parks, we can reduce energy use, protect
nocturnal animals and enhance the visibility of the night sky. Most
buildings are lighted at night for safety and security, and we
usually give little thought to turning off non-essential lights or
directing light fixtures downward. Urging our schools, businesses,
municipalities and lawmakers to take action will help ensure that
our children will be able to marvel at the Milky Way.

Already, some states, cities and the National Park Service are
leading the way to preserve dark skies. In 1999, New Mexico passed
The Night Sky Protection Act, which eliminated high-powered mercury
vapor bulbs for street lights, required park lighting to be shut
off by 11 p.m., and stipulated that outdoor lighting be directed
downward.

Tucson, Ariz., has retrofitted 22,000 street
lamps with hoods, an action so successful that the Milky Way is
once again visible from downtown. And after Utah’s Natural
Bridges National Monument made significant changes to its outdoor
light fixtures, the Tucson-based International Dark Sky Association
designated the city as an International Dark Sky Park.

Standing in the darkness of Great Basin National Park, I feel
wonder and humility as I crane my neck to stare up at the stars.
The vastness of the night sky puts my daily struggles in
perspective. As our guide identifies the constellations Cassiopeia
and Scorpius with the help of a yellow laser pointer, it’s
easy to understand why a night like this has captivated artists,
poets and ancient cultures.

“I can’t imagine
what it must have been like 200 years ago before light
pollution,” marvels one dazzled stargazer.

“It must have been awesome,” exclaims another seated
silhouette. ”No wonder people used to sit outside and look at
the stars so much.”

Seth Shteir is a contributor to
Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). He
teaches school in Sherman Oaks, California, and also serves as
conservation chair of the San Fernando Valley Audubon
Society.